


And in the Dark

by j_marquis



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: First Time, M/M, Oral, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 13:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14450001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_marquis/pseuds/j_marquis
Summary: They had been dancing around this for a month, maybe more. Finally, it comes to fruition.





	And in the Dark

Cid came in from a three am insomniac, couldn't shut his brain up smoke break to find Vincent deep in dreaming, curled against the blankets, hands shaking and curled up in on himself. Normally he would assume that meant he was kicked out of bed, he'd curl up in the uncomfortable hotel room chair and try and catch a few minutes of sleep while making sure Vincent didn't fall apart on himself, or cause more damage than necessary. But Cid didn't have the patience for that. Not for watching Vincent suffer.

They'd been doing this thing almost a month now, this dancing around each other, coming together in the dead of night, Vincent would curl up against Cid's back, or notch his head against his shoulder and wrap his arms around him, and he would go to sleep. Just like that. Sometimes a mumbled thank you, or a whisper of Cid's name, but he'd just hold on, and that's how Vincent would sleep. He always initiated. Cid hated how the others gave Vincent so wide a berth, how they came to him slow, with raised hands and careful eyes, never once bothering to find out Vincent was human just like them. It was one of the things he'd always liked about Aerith. She was good to their resident coffin dweller, held on to his arm and grinned at him, that wide, careless grin she gave everyone else. But Aerith wasn't there anymore, and the rest didn't bother. And no one was in this hotel room with them, just Vincent, and his nightmares.

Still, Cid was careful when he came to the bed. Vincent wasn't always human, and Cid was in no mood to dally with the Beast. No, just Vincent, curled in on himself, head buried, breath hard.

"Valentine?" He reached out, touched Vincent's human hand. "Hey Valentine, it's just a dream."

But Vincent was already awake, his golden red eyes all but glowed in the dark room, focused on Cid. Narrow, determined focus, the kind Vincent got when prey was in his sights. But Cid didn't back down. He closed his hand around Vincent's, brought it to his own heart, loud in the quiet room, ringing in his ears.

"Just me, Valentine."

Carefully, Cid climbed up onto the bed, kept Vincent's hand on his heart all the while, he just planned on going back to sleep, maybe seeing if he could be the one, this time, to wind around Vincent, keep him close.

But lips were on his, warm, careful lips unused to kissing pressed against his and the hand pressed to Cid's heart curled, holding his shirt. Cid didn't mind the kiss, awkward as it was, it had been a long time coming. This closeness, this intimacy, he'd seen it in Vincent that first night they shared, wrapped around each other. So he sighed into it, opened his lips, pressed Vincent to open his, to deepen their kiss, even if Cid had to show him how. His other hand came up to cradle the back of Vincent's head, push his blunt fingers into Vincent's soft hair.

The sound Vincent made pooled warmth in Cid's gut, that soft sigh, a trace of his smooth voice, but it was high, just a tiny noise between their lips.

So Cid kissed him again. And again, and slipped his tongue into Vincent's mouth to draw out more sounds, more small whines of pleasure passed between their kisses, and Cid found himself drawing more and more from Vincent. His hand pushed through Vincent's hair, the other hand, wrapped around Vincent's still, rubbed over his knuckles. He brought the hand to his lips, kissed over it, turned his hand and kissed the palm.

"Cid?"

"Hey, Vince." Cid smiled, realized he was leaning over Vincent, not pinning him but certainly on top. Worried that was too much, he was trapping the skittish man.

But Vincent merely leaned up, and kissed him again. "I didn't, I mean, thank you."

Cid brushed his fingers over Vincent's lower lip, down his jaw and his throat. And oh, he wanted to go further, to touch his fingers under the collar of Vincent's shirt, to trace over the network of scars he had only seen hints of under Vincent's dark clothes. But he met Vincent's eyes, sought hesitation, nerves, anything that told him to stop.

Instead, Vincent pushed his bared hand up Cid's back, under his shirt, fingers cold on Cid's skin.

Cid yelped out a laugh, pressed their foreheads together and grinned. "Trying to say you want me?"

"You're warm." Vincent sighed, sought another kiss, and it was granted. And so Cid took another, and another, unclasping Vincent's high collared shirt with rough, unpracticed fingers, to move his kiss to Vincent's strong jaw, over the column of his throat.

Vincent went stiff under him, a moment, long enough that Cid started to back away, but Vincent's head fell back, his metal hand clenching in the sheets hard enough to tear the fabric. The sound that escaped him, the strangled first attempts at a moan, stopped Cid from caring about the property damage. Instead, he went back to the long, pale lines of his throat, found a dark scar behind one ear, and he traced his tongue along it, kissed the sensitive little patch of skin, always covered by Vincent's dark, soft hair. And Vincent whined, outright whined of the pleasure.

The room was too hot around Cid, under his clothes, burning heat and want and Vincent was delicious under his lips, his normally cool skin heating under so much closeness, so much contact.

Vincent tugged at Cid's shirt, pulling up until Cid got the idea, yanked it off and tossed it aside. He had a couple scars, numerous freckles and a soft trail of hair on his bared chest, but he didn't mind. He knew it was imperfect, he didn't have the sculpted muscles he'd had as a younger man, but under Vincent's heated gaze it didn't matter. Vincent pushed his hand against Cid's chest, feeling over the scars, fingertips skirting over the pale blonde hair over his pectorals, tracing down to the hem of his work pants. But Vincent stopped at the hem, fingertips along his waist, drawing shivers and shudders of anticipation from Cid.

But Cid was hesitant, at the next clasps on Vincent's dark shirt. He made sure he met Vincent's odd eyes, looked at him, really looked at him and waited until Vincent looked back, the smallest nod of consent, before undoing Vincent's shirt, exposing the pale wreckage of his torso to Cid's eyes. Knotted, gnarled lines of scars, surgical and battle, most leading to the dark mess of scar tissue right over his heart. Cid bent, kissed over it so Vincent couldn't see his heart break for what he had gone through, what he must have suffered to get to where he was. Cid never, ever wanted to see him hurt like that again. So he ran his hands, rough, warm hands up Vincent's narrow waist, held close and began to kiss the networks of scars like a road map leading to something better, far away from this.

And Vincent sighed, moved with him, his chest arching into each gentle kiss, his hand caught the back of Cid's head and encouraged him, led him to places that felt the best and held him there. But Cid's hands were free to roam, tracing the lines of his hips, up his smooth chest, over his softly peaked nipple, teasing it to hardness. That brought another small moan from Vincent, and so Cid continued to lavish attention on the sensitive flesh, his lips trailing closer again to the messy scar over his heart, almost like a crater breaking open. Vincent stilled, nervous, but he didn't push Cid away, and the small sound he made when Cid opened his mouth, kissed messy, licked at the skin was one of surprise, of pleasure, Cid could have sworn he heard relief on his breath. And on that breath Cid lurched up, captured Vincent in a messy, impassioned kiss, grinding their clothed hips together, showing Vincent his want, what had gathered between them in this exposed state.

Vincent stared at the space where their hips met, startled, but there was something dark, wanting, in his red eyes. He smiled, a tiny movement, and he kissed Cid once more, distracting while his hand slid behind Cid, grabbed his still clothed backside. Cid groaned, smiled, ground his hips once more against Vincent as he moved his kisses lower, lower still than where he had been, pressing his lips to Vincent's abdomen, cradling his slight hips in his hands, he moved to undress him further, this time he didn't need to seek approval, as soon as Cid's hands went to his belts Vincent was helping him, arching his hips and easing the close fitted black pants down, not off, just down far enough that Cid could expose the long, pale line of his cock. Slender and searing hot, it fit into Cid's hand halfway to hard, and Cid stroked, just once, marveling at the smooth, solid weight of it. Vincent, above him, one leg hooked over Cid's shoulder, leaned his head back, arching along his spine. The moonlight made him even more impossibly pale, his claw hand caught in the bedding, the other hand moved restlessly, smoothing down the back of Cid's head, grabbing, grasping. Cid reached up, caught Vincent's hand in his and laced their fingers together.

Bent his head, and licked a single, wet stripe up the length of Vincent's quickly hardening arousal. He wrapped his lips around the head, teased his way down. Giving, like this, was something Cid enjoyed. Especially with someone as reactive as Vincent was proving to be. His little gasps of pleasure were impossibly loud in Cid's ears, the long leg caught over his shoulder tightened, muscles going firm, tense, his entire body taut as a bowstring, caught between pulling away from the sensation and moving into it. Cid smoothed the hand that didn't hold Vincent's over his hips, trying to still their little twists, thrusts as Cid bobbed his head on Vincent's full cock, drawing him closer to orgasm. He knew it wouldn't take long, he could tell, the sounds Vincent made, the way he moved, the sheer heat of it was enough to make Cid aware.

But Vincent was silent, still, tense when he came, his hand tightening in Cid's hard enough to whiten the knuckles. Cid swallowed through it, he didn't mind, and the little aftershocks, whines of pleasure he drew from his partner were enough to keep him going past where Vincent should have been overstimulated. But all the signs of pleasure were there, and that was enough for Cid. When he finally pulled away, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand with a cheeky grin, Vincent was staring up at him with hazy eyes, his body boneless and limp in the hotel bedding, spread out contentedly. Cid leaned close, nuzzled at Vincent's cheek, his jaw, leaving small kisses wherever his lips landed. Just affection. Vincent deserved affection.

And if Vincent's hand was tracing down his chest, cupping his arousal through his pants, wanting to give as well as he got, well, who was Cid to turn him down?

**Author's Note:**

> aftepes.tumblr.com


End file.
